Solitude was a good thing, right?
by Beth - Geek Chick
Summary: Oneshot Daria/Trent story.


**A/N A few things to consider before reading. I'm taking liberty with some of the canon of the show. I have no idea when Daria's birthday was, or if she would turn 18 before graduating high school. Also, in my story, Tom never existed.**

**I'd written and posted this story earlier, but it's cleaned up now, as a little oneshot. Enjoy.**

* * *

"Now, Daria, are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Helen asked, hovering once again in Daria's bedroom doorway.

Daria looked up from the textbook she was reading, her tired eyes evident behind her glasses. "Like I've already said five times, Mom, my senior project is due two days after spring break is over. You really think I can think and work at a hotel? Sharing a room with Quinn?"

Helen sighed, knowing her eldest was right, but clinging onto the hope that maybe this once, a family holiday actually included the entire family. "Well, what if we asked Quinn to –"

Her words were cut off by a death glare from Daria, and Helen finally admitted defeat. "Yes, I know. It's a ridiculous idea. You'll be all right in the house by yourself?"

"Yes, Mom," Daria drawled. "I am an adult, after all."

"You've been an adult for three weeks, Daria. Achieving the age of 18 does not mean a free pass to adulthood."

And, while her mother shut her door and walked away, Daria shook her head at her mother's logic. She knew all her life that she'd turn 18 while still in high school, and actually looked forward to having a bit of independence once she was legal. This instance being one of them. Daria had shown her trustworthiness throughout her teen years, and her mother had no concrete example to bring up as an excuse not to let her stay in the house by herself for a week.

She laid the book on her chest and looked up at the ceiling as the thought rang through her head. A small smile came to her lips. A week of solitude. No parents, no Quinn. Quiet.

True, her excuse to her mother was a valid one. She did have her senior project to work on, but what her mother didn't know was that she'd gotten the majority of the work done already, and it'd take only an afternoon or two to finalize. The rest of the time would be her own.

She imagined having time to read, to write, to eat whatever she wanted and go wherever she desired. Yep, she thought, it was going to be a good week.

XXX

After spending the night reading, Daria woke late, reveling in the fact that she wasn't woken by pounding footsteps or loud voices. She was drinking a large cup of coffee at the kitchen table when she's interrupted by a loud pounding on the front door.

Her solitude interrupted, she got up to answer it. She swung the door open to find Jane standing there, carrying a bag, and Trent standing behind her, slightly dazed. Daria figured it was the earliest she'd seen him awake. He had a bag, as well, and his guitar was slung behind his back.

"Hey, Daria," Jane said with a smile.

Not quite knowing what was going on, Daria replied with a hello of her own, though the sentiment didn't show on her face. "Why are you here?"

Jane shot Trent a dirty look over her shoulder. "I told you to call her last night."

"I thought I had, but I was pretty tired. Maybe I just dreamt it?"

Jane rolled her eyes at her older brother.

"What is it?" Daria asked, annoyed and slightly pissed as her dreams of a silent and productive week fell around her.

"Well," Jane said quickly, recognizing the look on Daria's face, "You said your parents and Quinn were going away for the week, and guess what? Papa and Mama Lane showed up last night, saying they needed to work on their relationship. Both Trent and I agreed that there was no way we could be there."

"Why?" Daria asked.

As neither Lane sibling answered and only looked around, shaking their heads, Daria asked again, a touch of annoyance in her voice.

"Okay, okay," Jane said. "They promised they'd keep their antics in the bedroom, but the last time they did this, Trent walked in on them in the laundry room."

"I still refuse to step foot in that room," Trent said.

"Obviously," Daria muttered, taking in the man's disheveled clothing.

"What?" Trent asked.

"Nothing," she replied. "So, what you're saying is that you decided to invite yourselves over here instead of finding somewhere else to stay for the week."

"No, of course not. Trent was supposed to call and ask you. When he didn't say anything, and I didn't hear from you, I thought it was okay."

"Why couldn't you ask?" Daria queried.

"Come on, Daria," Jane said, a touch of exasperation in her voice. "I've been doing nothing but painting and sculpting for a month now. You know BCFA needs my portfolio in two weeks."

Daria sighed. Yeah, she did know. In fact, she'd barely seen Jane outside of school for weeks now. She begrudgingly opened the door to let them in, and in the process, saw Trent's beat-up car in the driveway.

Shutting the door, she trudged back to the kitchen and sat down with her coffee. She left the Lanes to find their way around the house. They've been here before and knew where everything was, and she hoped her quiet week could still be salvaged.

Jane sat her stuff by front door and ran back out to get her art supplies. Trent sat his stuff by the couch in living room and sauntered into kitchen.

"Mind if I grab some coffee?" he asked.

"Sure," Daria said with a shrug. She watched as he pulled a mug out of the cabinet and poured himself some coffee. "I've never seen you awake this early. Jane drag you out of bed?"

"No, mom decided to do some early morning yoga," he replied, sitting down at the table in front of her. Daria looked at him, perplexed. "Her new version of it includes a gong and chanting."

Daria laughed slightly, the corners of her mouth tilting. As they're sitting at the table with their mugs, Jane came in.

"Hey, I have to set up my easel. Whose bedroom should I take, Quinn's or your parents?"

"Doesn't matter to me," Daria replied, "but if you take my parents, that'll leave Trent with Quinn's pink palace."

Trent spoke up, "Don't worry about me, I'll take the couch."

Daria's about to say that he doesn't have to, but Jane interrupted, "Okay, I'll take the parents. I couldn't bear being surrounded by that much pink."

As Jane walked off again, Daria said, "Trent, you don't have to take the couch."

"Nah, it's okay. You obviously didn't expect us, and I don't want to intrude anymore than I have to."

"You're not an intrusion, Trent."

Daria felt her cheeks being to color a little at her admission, but she ducked her head to her coffee cup, her air falling over the sides of her face. Damn it, she thought, you'd think I'd be over this by now.

She sunk into her chair, lost in her thoughts until she heard Trent's chair scrape back and his mug hit the sink. She didn't look up, though, until she felt a slender, long-fingered hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw Trent standing very close to her.

"Thanks again, Daria, for letting us stay here."

"Mm, okay," she mumbled as he walked out of the kitchen to the living room.

She finished her own coffee and set the empty mug in the sink before going back up to her own room to change. After she pulled on shorts and a t-shirt, she headed down the hall to her parents' room. Jane was busy laying out a plastic sheet on the carpet.

"I'm guessing your parents wouldn't appreciate paint splatters," Jane drawled with a smile.

"Yeah, good idea," Daria agreed with a laugh.

"You sure you're okay with us being here?" Jane asked.

Daria shrugged.

"'Cause you seemed kinda pissed when you answered the door."

Daria leaned against the door jamb, "Just looking forward to the quiet, you know? but I was planning on spending time with you, anyway."

"And Trent," Jane said with a smile.

Daria glared at her best friend.

Of anything and everything they can and have talked about over the roughly three-year span of their friendship, the subject of Daria and Trent, it was known, was somewhat off-limits. At least to Daria, it was. Jane, on the other hand, loved to continue to bring up the subject. When they were sophomores in high school, it was just teasing, as a romance between a 16-year-old and a 21-year-old wasn't even remotely plausible. However, ever since Daria turned 18, just a few weeks after Jane had, Jane had upped the frequency with which she tormented her friend.

To Daria, however, the age difference was still there. Five years is five years, she figured, and she had more things to concentrate on now other than a schoolgirl crush.

"No need for the death stare, Morgendorffer," Jane said, raising her hands in defense. "It's just a week. You won't even know we're here. I'll spend most of my time painting and working, and Trent will – well, I don't know what Trent's planning on doing, but I'm sure he'll behave."

Remembering how Trent normally was at home – either sleeping or playing loud music – Daria decided to go talk to him.

She found him on the couch, pulling items out of his bag. It looked like he hadn't "packed" other than just throwing anything and everything into an old, ripped duffle bag. She sat down on the other end of the couch.

"Hey, Trent, I was wondering if I could talk to you?"

"Sure, Daria. What's up?" He continued to rummage through the bag.

"I don't mind you and Jane staying over, you know. It's just, I was hoping to have a quiet week, and –" Her voice trailed off, as she tries to figure out how to phrase what she wanted to say without sounding like a total bitch.

Trent wasn't saying anything, and Daria risked a look at him. He's not looking put-out or offended, as she assumed he would be. He's just looking at her with that same patient and understanding look he's always given her. It never failed to calm her, and she proceeded with her concerns.

"I was still hoping to keep my plans, so if you have practice or need to see some of your friends or – or your girlfriend, could you do it at their place?" Daria asked.

"Guess I shouldn't have bothered to bring my guitar then, huh?" he asked with a laugh that trailed off into a cough.

"No, I don't mind when you play," Daria said, her mouth clapping shut as she realized how eager she sounded. "Just, no amps or late night jam sessions, okay?"

"No problem, we can practice at Jesse's for now," Trent said.

"Okay, thanks," Daria said. She got up to return to her room when he spoke again.

"Oh, and Daria?"

"Yeah?" she asked, turning back around to him.

"I don't have a girlfriend."

"Oh, but what about –" Daria really didn't want to know, didn't want to say the "M" word, for fear her jealous side would rear its ugly head.

"I haven't seen Monique in six months. We're done."

"Okay, then," she replied with a nod. He was still looking at her, and she could feel another blush creeping its way back up to her cheeks as his eyes never leave her face. She quickly turned away, her hair swinging to cover her face, and retreated back up to her room.

Daria shut the door to her bedroom and started pacing. 15 minutes. It'd been 15 minutes since she was sitting at the kitchen table, alone, drinking coffee and reveling in the silence. A whole week stretched in front of her, and now here she was, sequestered, as usual, to her bedroom.

Wait a minute, she thought. What the hell was she doing? Did she not, just yesterday, tell her mother she was an adult and capable of being by herself for a week? No, she thought. She had plans for this week, and the fact that Jane and Trent were under the same roof shouldn't make a difference.

Anyway, Jane's probably going to paint herself to exhaustion, and Trent'll probably spend most of his time at Jesse's.

She took one more trek from the window to the door to clear her thoughts. She could do this. Sure, Trent's only gotten better looking over the past few years, and though he still embodied the role of slacker, his music's gotten better, and he's even taken up teaching kids how to play the guitar.

The latter fact came as a surprise to Daria, and when Jane had told her, she thought her friend was joking. Nope, Jane had explained. Apparently, playing all those under-21 clubs and private parties for teenagers paid off, and he was spending a night or two driving to the swankier of neighborhoods to teach the rich kids guitar.

Daria sank down onto her bed and looked around at the discarded clothing on the floor. Well, that's one chore to get out of the way, she thought, as she stood and started picking up shirts and skirts and other items. She also ripped the sheets off of her bed.

An armful of clothing later, she headed out the door and down the hallway. Jane was already applying paint to canvas in her parents' room, the sound of her brush echoing out of the bedroom. Down the stairs and through the living room, she saw Trent sitting cross-legged on the couch, a notebook open on his lap and his head nodding to some silent beat.

She made her way to the laundry room and stuffed her load into the washing machine. Once it started running, she opened the closet to get fresh sheets for her bed. Before leaving, she got another set and a spare pillow off the top shelf.

Trent still sat in the same position when she walked back into the living room, her offering of bed linens in her arms. Trent seemed to be lost in his own world and didn't hear nor see Daria's approach. She stood there for half a minute, wondering if she'd be intruding on his creative process if she interrupted.

"Trent."

No response. He was rocking and humming to himself, his eyes closed. Daria sighed and set the stack of sheets on the couch beside him. Reaching out, she tapped him on the shoulder. "Trent!"

He jerked as if she'd woken him from a deep slumber. "Hey, Daria. What's up?"

"Sheets," she said, pointing to the pile on the cushion beside him. Wow, she thought to herself. How verbose of you.

"Umm, okay. Did you want me to put them away for you?" he asked, blinking in confusion at the stack of bright white cloth.

Daria was torn between laughing and offering to make the couch up into a bed for him. She opted for neither and decided for sincerity. "No, they're for the couch for you to sleep on."

"Thanks," Trent said, smiling up at her.

And that did it, the smile. She'd seen it over the years, of course, but the fact that they were here, in her house, virtually alone, and she was giving him a place to sleep, made the smile all the more intimate. Damn, she thought, she wish she could read minds to see what he thought of her.

She'd feel so much better without this ambivalent…thing hanging between them. If only she had the guts to just come out and ask him. She knew why, though. She didn't want the answer to be "just friends." And, given how she'd never really been interested in anyone else – pickings at Lawndale were slim – her experience level was slim to none.

"You're welcome," she said, returning his smile. Then, as the moment passed, she turned away, the coward in her winning out. It always did. And, as she walked back up the stairs with her own fresh sheets, she knew it always would. It was easier.

His notebook on his lap forgotten, Trent watched the dark-haired girl retreat from him and walk up the stairs. Daria fascinated him. Always had. She was unlike any other girl he knew. Smart, and in her own way, very pretty. When he'd first met her a few years ago, she'd been a cool high schooler, his sister's friend.

Five years. He kept reminding himself of that every time he caught her staring at him. Five years difference in their age, and she was a teenager. Well, technically, she still was, but she'd turned 18 a few weeks ago, and ever since, his primal brain had been pushing him to go for it.

But he'd always shut down that inner monologue, reminding himself that though she was an adult, and he was an adult, the differences between them kept him at bay. She deserved better, he thought. Better than a struggling musician who barely graduated high school and whose life dreams consisted mainly of making his next gig and earning enough to keep him stocked with guitar strings and enough food to keep himself from passing out.

But Daria? Daria was bound for college, and she deserved a college guy, somebody as smart as her. With a sigh, he turned back to his notebook. He'd been working on a new song, and he read through the lyrics again. About a love lost before it ever got started. It was morose and depressing, but Trent needed to get it out of his system. In about six months, Daria would be in Boston, and he hoped to be able to say good-bye to her without feeling the loss he knew was coming.

That late afternoon, Daria was in the kitchen attempting to make pizza. Jane had gone out for a run, and from the soft snores, Trent was napping on the couch. The process wasn't difficult, she knew. At least she had a ready-made crust, but she'd never made it herself before. The part she was stuck at now was how hot to make the oven.

Well, she thought, no time like now to experiment. Even if she did make a mess, her mother wasn't here to berate her for it, and she could clean it up before anyone saw it. First step, she thought, open the oven door. She did so, only to find a stack of metal sheet pans and a pot of some sort.

She reached in to remove them, but underestimated her grip. The top cooking sheet clattered to the floor, the noise louder than she thought was possible. With a sigh, she picked it up and placed it and the rest of the pans on the counter. She was staring at the oven's temperature dial, contemplating the numbers when Trent ran in.

"What's going on? Are you okay?"

Daria whipped around, her eyes taken in the disheveled man standing in the doorway. "Oh, God, I woke you up, didn't I?"

"Uhh, yeah," Trent said, looking around trying to find the cause of the noise he heard. "I heard a loud noise."

"I dropped a pan," Daria said, sheepishly.

"Okay. What are you doing?"

"Making some pizza," she said, turning back to the oven. "Maybe I should just order in."

Trent walked in, surveying the countertop with its stacks of pans and cooking sheets. On top of the stove on a round sheet was a delicious-looking pizza, topped with cheese and pepperoni. "Looks good."

"Yeah, well, unless I can figure this thing out, we'll be eating it cold and uncooked."

"Put it on 400," Trent said.

"How do you know?"

He shrugged, "I spent a couple weeks working in a pizza parlor."

"Really?" Daria asked. He nodded, so she turned the knob to the correct setting and grabbed the pizza to shove it in. Her motion was stopped, though, by Trent's hand on her arm.

"Wait."

Her hand started to shake slightly from the contact, unaccustomed as it was, and Daria grabbed the pizza pan with the other hand before it slipped to the floor. "What?"

"You gotta wait for it to heat up first."

"Oh, okay," Daria said, setting the pan back on the oven. "You'd think I'd know this stuff already, you know?"

Trent let go of her arm and leaned against the countertop, cocking his head at her. "Kind of weird, me teaching you something."

"Why is that weird?"

"Well, you're so smart, you know? Way smarter than I am."

"That's not true," Daria said. "You know a lot of things I don't."

"Like what?"

"Well, I don't know a thing about music, for one."

"Okay, but –"

"But nothing. You're smart, Trent."

Now it was Trent's turn to blush, though it wasn't as blatant as Daria's red cheeks when it happened to her. He just hung his head and smiled a bit. Suddenly, he got an idea, and before his more rational brain could tell him not to, he spoke.

"Would you like me to teach you?"

"Teach me?" Daria asked. "Music?"

Trent nodded, and as his still sleep-addled left side of his brain woke, it started berating him about what he was doing. It needn't have worried, though, as Daria answered.

"I don't think so, Trent. I mean, my parents made me take piano lessons when I was a kid, and I really sucked."

"Oh, okay, then."

He stood there, a couple of feet away, leaning against the countertop. Once again, Daria wished she could tell what he was thinking. Was he serious about the music lessons? Why was he asking her? Especially now? He'd had years now to offer to teach her the guitar. All these thoughts, plus the normal ones that'd always plagued her when in Trent's presence came bubbling up again. And this time, she couldn't hold back her questions, her curiosity. They'd probably never have a time like this again - alone without distractions. It needed to come out.

"Trent, what's going on here?"

His body stayed lounged, but his head snapped towards her, and his eyes opened wide. "What - what do you mean? We're making pizza."

He wasn't that dumb. Daria knew it. He knew it. But she wasn't backing down. Not now. She was tired of it, frankly. Whether it was positive or negative, anything had to be better than this.

"Yes, we're making pizza. But come on, we're both adults. Well, technically, you know - well, I guess what I'm saying is, are we just friends, or what?"

Trent swallowed as his throat decided at that moment to close up. He tried taking a deep breath, and the lump eased somewhat, but it didn't help the fact that his heart at that moment started to thump in his chest. Geez, did she really ask him that? Did he hear her right? He glanced quickly at her face.

She seemed to be waiting, and he saw a mix of emotions flash across her face, and even her eyes looked - well, they held a bit of hope, maybe? What did she expect him to say? The truth? That of course, he thought of her as more than his sister's best friend? That, ever since the clock struck midnight on her 18th birthday, his libido had been giving him hell? Or should he just take the easy, cowardly way out and stick to his original plan, to let her go and be happy?

She could see him thinking. Actually see it, as his eyes darted everywhere around the room, his mouth opening and closing trying to form words. Any other time, she'd just say forget it and get on with dinner, but for some reason, it just made her mad. It wasn't a hard question, she thought. She wasn't asking for forever or a smooth letdown. She just wanted the facts.

"Trent."

Her voice brought him out of his own thoughts. God, he wanted to let her down easy, lie to her, just get through these next six months while she was here and let her move on, let him move on. But he couldn't. The facade that he'd put up, bit by bit over the past few years as his attraction to Daria grew, crumbled under her intense gaze.

"I - I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Well, we are friends, nothing's going to change that."

"I hear a 'but' in there."

"But - but you're asking if there's something more?"

"Yes."

She said it like a whisper, and it knocked down the final few remaining bricks in his facade. He felt raw, exposed, but also free. he took another deep breath, this one coming easier as the knot in his throat eased. With that cleansing breath, he answered her. "Yeah, there is. Always has been. But you were -"

"Too young," Daria answered for him. He nodded, his eyes on her. She knew she should respond, but for once, she didn't have an answer. She always had the answers, but unfortunately, there's no textbook on this. She was running on instinct. "And now I'm not."

He nodded again.

"Okay, then."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"So, do you -" Now who's the teenager, Trent chastised himself. But he had to know. It's too late to go back now. "Are you -"

Daria shut her eyes to get through the next sentence. It was far too late to back out now, and he'd already admitted what she wanted - no, needed to hear. "You already know this, Trent. I've had a crush on you for years."

Trent coughed out a laugh, which made Daria's eyes flash open. "What's funny?"

He pushed himself off of the counter, standing straight and took half a step to her. "How was I supposed to already know that?"

"Didn't Jane - I mean, how didn't you? I could barely talk to you half the time, and -" Daria stopped talking, realizing what she was saying. All this time, she wished she could read Trent's mind as to how he felt about her, and she'd been expecting the same of him. "I just thought you had always known."

Trent shook his head. "But I do now."

"Guess so," Daria said with a small laugh of her own. "So," she said, taking her own small step towards him, "what now?"

"You're the one who started this conversation."

"I know, but -"

Trent understood, and he covered the space between them, raising his thin, muscular arms to pull her towards him. The hug was unlike any other physical contact they had, but it felt right, he thought. Her small frame brought the top of her head up to his chin, and she automatically tucked her head onto his shoulder as her arms slid around his waist to his back.

It felt - right. He really didn't have any other words for it. He'd spent half the day with his lyrics, the words pouring out of him onto paper detailing how he loved and lost without the object of his affection ever finding out. But he had no idea what to do now. His entire thought process when it came to Daria - no matter what his libido was trying to convince him - dealt with keeping her at an arm's length and then letting her go.

Her first romantic hug. Daria's thoughts were jumbled, yet she just let them come and go. Her mind was racing, but she didn't listen to it. Instead, she just held him. His arms folded across her back, pulling her closer to him. She let him. She also felt him rub his cheek against her hair.

Her body was slightly stiff as he took her in his arms, but as slowly ran his hands up and down her back, he felt her thin frame beneath the tee she wore begin to soften. Silently, he urged her to relax.

A few minutes pass as she held him, her body slowly getting used to being in such close proximity to a man. Not that Daria never wanted this in the past. She did, but not so much that she'd settle for anyone. No, the only person she'd ever envisioned in this position currently occupied it. Leaning back a few inches, she looked up at him.

His dark eyes bore into hers, and Daria's breath caught in her throat as his gaze slid from her own wide eyes down to her mouth. She couldn't think in the moment, but her body seemed to know what to do. Her heels lifted, pushing herself up on her toes to bring herself closer to his height. Her lips parted.

Trent couldn't quite believe it. Daria, the girl he'd been fascinating himself with all this time, was in his arms and offering herself to him. Still, he knew to go slow. Her eyes, so wide and trusting behind her glasses, watched as he lowered his head to hers.

Soft and sweet and warm. Exactly as Daria imagined it'd be. His fingers clenched her tee, lifting her further against him, but the pressure from his lips never changed. Kiss after kiss, he pressed his lips against hers. He changed the angle slightly, both their lips parting. A slight sigh escaped her mouth, warming the air between them.

He could feel the moment she decided to kiss back, and he smiled a bit before letting it happen.

For another minute, they kissed, one of Trent's hands sliding up to grasp her jaw and stroke her cheekbone. Daria's hands alternately clenched his shirt and soothed, until her actions pulled his shirt up so much, soon her fingers slid along bare skin. She felt him shudder at her first touch, and it gave her such a surge of confidence, she intentionally slid both hands under and covered his slim, muscled back with her small hands.

"God, Daria," Trent groaned against her mouth.

She pulled away a bit, "Sorry."

Trent shook his head at her apology, "Don't be."

She slid her hands back to his waist and dropped back down to her heels. "Umm, so what now?" she asked.

Trent could think of a few things he'd like to do "now," but she'd responded to just a few kisses with such nervousness and hesitation, he didn't want to scare her any further. "Whatever you want."

**THE END**


End file.
